On The Still Path
by tala-hiding
Summary: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to come back with the TARDIS. Currently T, will probably be bumped up to a M later on.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: On The Still Path (1/?)

**Rating**: Currently T, will probably be bumped up to a M later on

**Characters**: Nine/Rose, Jack, various other original characters and aliens

**Summary**: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to come back with the TARDIS.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Doctor Who_ or any related spin-offs, characters, etc. They belong to the BBC and their respective creators. I also do not own Christopher Eccleston, but if anyone owns a cloning machine, let me know.

**Author's Note**: This started out as Challenge 18 for then_theres_us but somehow, I took an alternate turn somewhere and didn't really get back. The prompt was for alternate universes, and this isn't so much an alternate universe as a play on the cliche "The Doctor and his companion/s are stuck in one period in history and must find a way to get back to the TARDIS" as well as "Aliens are after us and we must disguise ourselves as normal people!"

Also, I'm not British and I'm not a student of history, so most of what I have in my head of Victorian England comes from films and the Internet. That being said, if I've made any mistakes, do let me know and I'll correct them. Also, as usual, writing without a beta, so any grammatical/spelling mistakes are mine. Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome, and the more you review, the faster the next chapter will come up. :)

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><p>The house stood at the end of a long and brambly lane, overlooking wide fields of wildflowers and overrun grass. The front windows stared balefully as Rose and the Doctor stopped, hands in their respective pockets, contemplating the sudden chill in the air. "1851," he said with a definitive tone. "At least it's not London. I'd go mad in London. Not a people person, me."<p>

Rose rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. "You don't have to tell me." She stared at the cracked walls, brickwork peering out from underneath the paint, the ivy writing green script across the terrace and wooden columns of the front porch. "How long do we have to wait?"

The Doctor slipped his hand into the inside of his leather jacket and pulled out an ordinary Yale key. It sat, silver and silent, on his palm. "Six months, give or take. That's the trouble with the vortex. You could be five minutes late for tea, or five centuries."

"And she knows we're here, yeah?"

He nodded brusquely, trying to quell the rising panic somewhere in his chest. It doesn't help that he has a dual respiratory system. "Jack knows where to go. If he gets here a day earlier and the Poppins would get him; a day later and he probably wouldn't even find us."

"Whatever did you do to piss off an alien species named _Poppins_?"

"The umbrella snouts, I'd reckon. And the fact that they wanted the TARDIS." He shook his head in disgust. "Come on, Rose. We might as well get comfortable." The Doctor stepped forward and pushed the wooden gate, white paint peeling from the grain. "Old Mr. Norris said there were still some beddings and stuff left from the previous tenants."

Rose surveyed the overrun yard, the desolate trees, the cobwebs strung like gossamer between branches. "If we're talking hundred-year-old beddings, what are the chances the rats got to them first?"

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><p>It turned out that the sheets and bed-things were less than a year old, and were washed and aired before their arrival. Rose thought of the old creaking houses that she'd seen in films and thought that the Stillwater House resembled them - all wooden floorboards and damask wallpapers, handcarved furniture that had recently been given a thorough cleaning. The estate agent, Mr. Norris, was amiable enough, and allowed them to stay in his London townhouse for two nights while making arrangements for the interior of the house to be cleaned by hired help.<p>

The Doctor, despite the leather jacket and cotton jumper, was easily able to convince Mr. Norris that he'd been living in the East Indies and had brought along his niece, Rose, back to England for some education and refinement. One look at Rose's bottle-blond hair and denim skirt and Mr. Norris had agreed wholeheartedly that young ladies should be taught manners and education as befitting their station. Rose curbed the urge to whack both of them with a marble bust she'd spied sitting on the mantelpiece.

The Doctor thumped up the stairs, his boots clattering on the wooden steps, while Rose peered around the first floor of the house. Having grown up in a Council flat, her sense of space was bound in a two-room flat with a living room and a kitchen all crammed together, jostling for floor space. But Stillwater was a proper house: the front door opened to a formal foyer, and the first door to her left proved to be the sitting room, with elegant furnishings that reminded Rose of a Jane Austen novel. A baby grand piano stood at the far corner of the room, next to a small fireplace. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound books. She could almost imagine a bright fire in the grate, and sitting on one of the soft armchairs, reading a book with a cup of tea beside her, the Doctor at the piano -

She shook her head. It didn't do to daydream of domestics.

The next room proved to be the dining room, with a large oak table and six high-backed chairs. A chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and a glass display case against the far wall showcased an exquisite set of china. Rose was surprised that a house that hadn't been lived in for years still had its treasures, but perhaps Mr. Norris had taken better care of the interior than the exterior. And it probably helped that a small army of house cleaners had come in two days ago to make sure the place was livable.

The kitchen was stone-tiled and cool, the racks filled with dried herbs that Rose had no name for. Pots and pans hung gleaming from the rafters. Empty glass jars lined one shelf, and a tall wooden cupboard proved to be the ice box; Rose vaguely remembered that they were still a few decades away from running electricity. A bucket of water and a copper sink stood near the back door, reminding Rose that indoor plumbing was probably still a dream rather than a reality. She sighed, not looking forward to the morning.

Tracing her steps back to the front hall in the rapidly descending twilight, Rose was surprised at the sudden knock at the back door. Scurrying back to the kitchen, she fumbled with the unfamiliar locks and threw the heavy door open. A young woman, perhaps only two or three years younger than her, peered curiously at her from under a white cap. "Hello miss," she said, her accent similar to the Doctor's Northern one. "My name's Abigail. I'm under Mr. Norris' employ, and he says I'm to come by when you've moved in."

"Oh!" Another thing Rose barely had any experience with were servants, Gwyneth notwithstanding. "Um, yes. My name's Rose. Come in."

Abigail bobbed a curtsy in her direction and moved past her. "I'll be preparing your dinner, miss, so perhaps you might want to change your - " and here she gave a curious glance at Rose' 21st century clothing - "underthings."

From somewhere above the kitchen, the Doctor's voice floated down. "Who's that, Rose?" he asked loudly.

"Just Abigail. Mr. Norris sent her 'round for the cooking and cleaning."

"Be down in a tic!"

Rose gave Abigail what she hoped was a friendly smile. "My, er, uncle. Well, not really my uncle, sort of more like my guardian, I guess." She watched as the younger girl walked around the kitchen, lighting the lamps. Soon, they were surrounded by globes of golden lights flickering in glass cages. "We were travelling, but now we've got to stay here for awhile before our, er, ride goes out again."

"Travelling?" Abigail's voice rose in excitement. "That sounds lovely." Her bright green eyes shone in the lamplight. "I suppose you've seen the world, miss. Explains your clothes."

"Ah." Rose looked down at her denims and cotton t-shirt, trainers and black leggings. "Well, yeah. I suppose I'd better change. When in Victorian England - woah."

The Doctor casually strolled into the kitchen, smooth-shaven and wearing what Rose thought was the most elegant clothes that he'd ever seen him wear. (In fairness, she'd only ever seen him change his jumper, and it seemed that he only rotated three colours, depending on his mood and the time of the day.) Despite the angled cut of the dinner jacket and trousers, and the stiff white tie around his neck, Rose could still see the bridled power of the Oncoming Storm in the lines of his body, the dark blue of his eyes. And then he looked at her and gave her a bright grin. "Like what you see?"

Rose opened and closed her mouth like a guppy. For once, she forgot that breathing was required.

"Right then!" He nodded to Abigail, his gaze kind. "Hello there. Abigail, wasn't it?"

The poor girl nodded and sketched a curtsy, almost knocking off the food items from the countertop where she had started preparing supper. "Yes, sir. That's me."

"Very good then. I'll be in the sitting room if you need me." He raked his eyes over Rose. "You might want to dress up for dinner."

"Right! Right, right, right." Rose finally managed to re-wire her brain and close her mouth. Mumbling an excuse, she slipped past the Doctor and scurried upstairs to find a dress and figure out what to do with her hair.

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><p>It took no trouble at all for the Doctor to light a fire and turn up the gas lamps in the sitting room. The wood-panelled room took on a cheery glow, the Turkish carpets lush and thick beneath his feet. It wasn't the first time he'd travelled to this particular moment in history, and Rose was aware enough of the niceties and requirements of Victorian England that he didn't think his companion would mind too much. <em>1851<em>, he mused idly as he perused the books on the shelves. At least things were quiet, Pax Britannia and all that. And The Great Exhibition! He glanced at the watch on his wrist, almost hidden underneath the cuffs of his jacket. They were a month away from its opening. Rose would like that.

It wasn't that he was concerned for Jack, but he knew the Captain was capable of taking care of himself, and the TARDIS was more than capable of taking care of the Captain. And as long as they stayed in the vortex, they would both be safe. What he wasn't telling Rose was that he was making himself the bait for the stupid aliens; they would never survive six months in Victorian England. He grinned to himself. The Poppins depended on recycled air, and without the proper equipment and resources in place, their mechanical breathers would malfunction and give out before half the year was out.

He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked back to the center of the room and settled into an armchair. The fire dispelled the initial chill of the room. He was certain that the Poppins would be following them here, to this sleepy village of Little Grange. Better than London, where they could cause more harm to more people. At least in the countryside, not only were they further away from any mechanical means that might be configured or adapted into alien tech, but he could (at least in theory) protect the inhabitants much easier if push came to shove. He closed his eyes. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

But even that wasn't his chief concern. It was Rose. Six months of domestics - he chafed at the word - and he knew, he just _knew_ that there would be a point where he wouldn't be able to control himself. At least in the TARDIS, he could lose himself in the corridors, and Jack was proving to be an able distraction in his own right, complementing his and Rose's personalities in an unexpected, but not unwelcome, way. But bound in a house that was smaller on the inside than the outside? He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples distractedly. The Doctor was more than aware of his feelings for his small human companion. He was perfectly certain that had it not been for his feelings for her, he would never have agreed to take on that idiot Adam onboard his ship, or brought her to the day of her father's death, or saved Captain Jack from becoming space dust.

And yet, the Doctor knew precisely _why_ he couldn't have her. One brush of her lips against his, one moment of their bodies pressed against each other like twin branches of the same tree, one moment of mingled breathlessness, and he knew he'd never be able to let her go. Never. And he knew that once he'd claimed her as his, then he would lose her - that he would always lose her in the end. And he wasn't sure if he could stand to go through that again.

He heard the door open behind him. Rose's scent heralded her arrival: citrus and clean skin, and beneath it, the simple smell that was uniquely hers. The Doctor stood up and turned, ready to make some kind of remark on the history of the house, the work that needed to be done, and - _oh._

Rose wore a simple white dress, styled appropriately, her neck and shoulders smooth and bare. Exquisite lavender flowers were embroidered along the neckline, sleeves, and hem. She pulled her hair up with bits of lace and ribbon, and wore a simple silver necklace. She looked at him shyly, her brown eyes glimmering in the fire-light. "I found it upstairs, in the smaller bedroom. I suppose that's to be mine, yeah Doctor?" She twirled around slowly, allowing him to feast his eyes on her slender form, the curve of her breasts and waist hidden beneath the crinoline and lace. "D'you like it? Or is it too much for dinner?"

He cleared his throat. "You look beautiful."

She grinned at him. "No 'for a human' this time? Or is that always part of that statement?"

"No." He stared at her, wondering why, in all the universe, she'd been the one to stay with him. What he ever did, poor broken man that he was, to deserve her. "You're beautiful, Rose Tyler. Just beautiful."

She blushed, her pale cheeks tinted pink. "Thank you," she finally said, as she walked towards him and offered the crook of her arm. "And now, you can escort me to dinner."

He gave her a soft smile that reached his eyes and slipped his arm around hers, placing his hand on the soft skin of her forearm. "It'll be my pleasure."

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><p>to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: On The Still Path (2/?)

**Rating**: Currently T, will probably be bumped up to a M later on

**Characters**: Nine/Rose, Jack, various other original characters and aliens

**Summary**: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to come back with the TARDIS.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Doctor Who_ or any related spin-offs, characters, etc. They belong to the BBC and their respective creators. I still don't have my own Christopher Eccleston, but if anyone wants to time-share, drop me a note.

**Author's Note**: I had a bit of writer's block with this chapter, because I really wanted to rush to the fun parts (ahem) but obviously, a bit more exposition is required before we get to the, er, dancing. :D So I apologize for the delay, but hopefully this will whet your appetites while I get started on the next chapters.

Again, I apologize in advance if the historical details aren't as plausible as they should be, at least from a historian's point of view.

Reviews and constructive criticisms are appreciated, and cookies will be sent to the lovely people who take the effort to say hello. Well, virtual cookies anyway. And hugs! I give great hugs.

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><p>Rose awoke to see the unfamiliar light streaming from the window of her bedroom, muted by sheer muslin curtains. She rubbed her eyes and attempted to raise her head from the down pillows. The room was silent and still - the hum of the TARDIS was conspicuously absent, as was the gentle vibrations that indicated they were somewhere in the vortex. She took a deep breath and sat up straight, trying to remember. 1851. Little Grange. The Doctor. Escaping aliens.<p>

Right then. Rose launched herself from the duvet and bedcovers just as there was a polite knock on the door and Abigail came in, carrying a breakfast tray and a pot of tea. Rose stared at her, flabbergasted. "You're... you're still here."

Abigail looked at her strangely as she set down the tray on a nearby table. "Well, yes, miss. Given that I'm to be working here until you leave, I will actually be coming in in the mornings and leaving after supper." She gave Rose a bright smile. "I'll leave you to your breakfast, miss. Just ring the bell when you're done and I'll get it for you." She indicated a small wooden handle hanging from an tasseled line that went all the way up to the ceiling.

"Oh, oh no, I can take the tray down myself."

"Miss, I don't know where you've travelled, but here in England, it's perfectly all right to let other people do things for you. It's my job, after all." Abigail nodded her head and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Rose stared after her for a moment before trying to figure out what she really wanted to do. The room was small but tastefully furnished, and definitely bigger than her old pink-and-red bedroom back in London. The circular table in the middle of the room had a bright display of flowers in a ceramic vase, with her breakfast set down beside it. The wardrobe was to the left, tucked in a corner, with a full-length mirror beside it. There was a love seat beneath the window, and a small scrolling desk with some elegant-looking stationary and an inkpot and old-fashioned pens with sharp nibs arranged neatly on the surface. The walls were wood-panelled, like the rest of the house, and a warm rug in bright patterns covered most of the otherwise cold floorboards. Scientific paintings of flowers and leaves were framed and scattered all over the walls. Rose walked over to one of them, a pencil-and-watercolor rendering of bright orange-and-red flowers, the petals folded over to form a delicate bulb. _Lilium pardalinium_, the cursive script read at the bottom of the sketch. Lilies, then. But not any kind of lilies she'd ever seen. She traced a curious finger over the glass, wondering if the flowers were as alien as any of them.

"Panther lilies," said a familiar Northern voice in her ear. She jumped back, almost colliding with the Doctor's chest. He held out one hand to steady her, and she could feel his cool grip on her shoulder, her skin only separated from his by the thin cotton layer of her white nightdress. Carefully, she turned to face him, surprised that he was wearing workman's trousers, bracers, and a dark blue shirt, the sleeves carefully turned folded back, displaying his forearms. His eyes were alight, and he gave her a broad grin, his grip on her shoulders never wavering.

"Good morning," she said, trying not to blush. Rose had never seen him wear... well, so little clothing before. Usually he wore his leather jacket and jumpers like armour, and to see him without his usual clothes was, for lack of a better word, _distracting_. Of course, it didn't help that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone and the tempting line of his neck; his pushed-back sleeves confirming that while the Doctor was never going to have the musculature of someone like Jack, his arms were strong and capable, the tanned skin covered with a light smattering of hair. Rose bit her lip, wondering how those arms would feel around her naked body -

"Are you all right, Rose?" His face changed from amused to concerned. "You look a bit flushed there."

"I, ah... right, well, just getting used to the, erm, air in the place."

The Doctor laughed. "Right, because your little human lungs can't process clean air. Need it all polluted and stuff." He stepped back, his hands leaving her shoulders, and moved towards the door. "Well, clean up then, and eat your breakfast. I'll see you downstairs. And no lazing about, mind you."

She gave him a smile and a half-hearted salute, willing for her heart rate to slow down. "Aye aye."

As soon as the door closed, Rose slumped to the floor. "What the heck's wrong with me?" she asked the empty room. If she was back in the TARDIS, the ship would pulse sympathetically; as it were, these walls only stared back at her, empty and lifeless. She took a deep breath, trying to puzzle out her own out-of-control emotions.

She was attracted to the Doctor. She already knew that. Quite possibly, she was already attracted to him even on Satellite One, when she'd seen him walk out with the tree, arm in arm, and felt her face turn sour. Even though he'd always been dismissive of her appearance, she knew there had been moments when he'd look at her with genuine delight and awe, his blue eyes glimmering. She'd considered her own reactions carefully - this was nothing like what she felt for Jimmy Stone, which was all fire and the rush of bodies, and the excitement, the illicitness of it all; neither was it like being with Mickey, good ol' dependable Mickey, whose heart she just broke in Cardiff. No, being with the Doctor was nothing like that - it ran deeper, like a secret river underneath the earth, a hidden patch of wildflowers on a open moor. She sighed. This was more troublesome than she thought.

Still, as the old saying goes, time and tide wait for no man. Or woman, in her case. Rose eyed the breakfast sitting at the table with interest, and decided to go about her day.

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><p>The Doctor stepped out into the messy yard and surveyed the place with a critical eye. In no way was his mind going to go back to the second bedroom upstairs and think about Rose, all flushed and pink, her hair a tangled halo around her head as she perused the paintings on the wall. In no way was he going to think about how the sunlight made her white nightgown diaphanous, so that he could see the curve of her breast when she raised her arm, the gentle slope of her waist -<p>

No. Nope. Not a chance.

Dammit.

The two men that Abigail had brought in, cousins looking for work while the fields were fallow, were busy pulling up the weeds that had rioted among the bushes - Stephen and Joseph, if he remembered correctly. They were young, at least from his perspective, but perhaps a few years older than Rose. Still, he was glad for the company. Giving them a friendly nod, he picked up a hoe and started hacking away at the stubborn roots that anchored the weeds and brambles to the earth.

At least, if he couldn't control his train of thought, he could do something with his hands. It was a very old, ingrained habit - when in doubt, tinker. Since the TARDIS was still somewhere in the Vortex and he had no access to anything mechanical as of the moment, he figured he might as well do something useful. The Oncoming Storm did _not_ sit around and twiddle his fingers over a girl.

Except... well, it wasn't just any girl. It was Rose. His Rose. He rolled his eyes even as the thoughts came unbidden in his mind. Any more of this sap and he was likely to slap himself silly. Time Lords did not pine after human girls.

But he'd always known Rose was different. That _he_ was different - had the Time War never happened, he would've just been another rebel, wandering the stars. But he'd been asked to do things - terrible things, things he would never wish on his enemies, decisions that destroyed planets, possibilities, perhaps even the future. And he did them, because the alternative would've been worse. And Rose would never have even been born.

Maybe the slow path wasn't so bad. At least for now.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her step out of the front door, the hem of her dress swishing softly across the wooden boards of the porch. She gave him a bright grin. "Maybe we could go into town today, Doctor," she said. "Y'know, explore and stuff?"

He nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Let me just change, yeah?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, I like the look."

He laughed. "You got a thing for gardeners, then?"

"Perhaps a fantasy," she replied cheekily, her eyes sparkling despite the blush creeping across her cheeks.

He couldn't help it. A wide grin (_Cocky_, she thought, _very cocky._) spread across his face. "Fantastic."

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><p>She tugged on the lapel of his coat as they strolled down the main street of what passed for the town centre of Little Grange. "I still like the leather," she said.<p>

"So do I. But you know what they say - when in Rome, do what the Romans do."

"Always thought you just ignored history. Or worse, argued with it."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'll have you know. Rose Tyler, that I am a _very_ good student of history."

"Only if there are explosions involved."

"And bananas."

"Bananas are very important for your health."

He nodded seriously. "Doctor's orders."

Rose burst out laughing. They walked arm in arm down the cobbled streets, the hustle and bustle of market day swirling around them like water streaming down a river. His companion hung on to his elbow as they wandered, occasionally pointing out things of interest, comparing the various stalls to other things they'd seen on their travels. Even when grounded on Earth, she could still find the wonder and joy in wherever they landed. (Well, except maybe that one time...) Admittedly, that was one of the many reasons the Doctor enjoyed taking Rose anywhere and everywhere - she made him take notice of things he'd never notice had he been alone.

Soon, though, he could see that she was having trouble walking in her shoes - ladies' shoes during the Victorian era were a lot more sensible, but still rather chafing, especially when one was used to wearing trainers and running for their lives. He still kept his boots, but he knew that she'd been dressing up according to their time period. And so, once he saw the sign for the Owl and Olive, he turned to her and said, "D'you want to go and get something to eat?"

Her grateful face said it all.

They entered the cool, dark room and was immediately given a small table at the corner of the pub. Despite the swelling crowd and the rather distinct smell of sewage beneath the strong scent of frying meat and the even stronger scent of too many bodies jumbled together in a too-small room, Rose and the Doctor were able to enjoy themselves.

"This is pretty good," Rose noted, swiping the last bit of fried potato from the Doctor's plate.

"Oi! That's mine," he complained, pulling his plate closer to him. "Keep your grubby hands to yourself."

"Whatever happened to sharing, Doctor?" she inquired, fluttering her lashes coyly.

"I'd have thought you're done eating chips after that incident on Velusia V."

"We-ell, so did I, but English chips aren't so bad." She chewed slowly, savouring the last morsels of her stolen treat. "Still tastes like home."

The Doctor smiled at her. "Like that old saying."

"Which one?"

"Home's where the heart is."

She glanced up at him sharply at his words. His blue eyes held hers, all of time and space swirling in its depths. Unconsciously, she bit the corner of her lip, worrying the sensitive flesh. He was trying to tell her something - something important. But... no, he wouldn't... would he? It was there, just behind his darkening gaze, like a shred of sunlight tearing through stormclouds.

But before she could respond, the Doctor had already turned away, going through the motions of settling their bill. Rose leaned back against her seat, her heart hammering in her chest. She'd been getting more and more of these moments lately - when he held her cheek at the church, asking her to say she was sorry; the moment his arms wrapped around her in a desperate hug just after the Dalek self-destructed in Van Statten's basement; his grip around her waist as he dipped her while dancing to Glen Miller. It was still quite difficult to read him: he'd run hot one moment, then cold the next, moving around her in orbit, near one moment, far the next. There were still so many layers to the Time Lord that she wasn't privy too; that she wanted to be privy too.

She watched his back as he spoke to the owner of the establishment, probably complimenting them on the food. His broad shoulders and tapered torso suited his coat well; it wasn't the familiar leather coat, but trust the Doctor to still wear some sort of dark coat as his armour against the world. She wondered what he looked like out of those clothes. She already had a glimpse of his lanky runner's body in this morning's get-up; curiously, her mind's eye wandered up the bare forearms he'd displayed earlier, the cords of muscle chasing each other beneath his flesh, cool underneath her touch. He'd have gorgeous shoulders - she'd seen their contours underneath his wool jumpers even before - and she wondered if he'd let her trace the outline of his neck and shoulders with her tongue -

"Rose?"

"...um?" She knew her cheeks had flushed pink again.

He held out his hand, the beginning of a mischievous grin hovering at the edge of his mouth.

_Smug Time Lord_, she thought to herself as she grasped his open palm and allowed him to help her up. She had a feeling that before their time was up, she was either going to significantly embarrass herself in front of the Doctor, or she'd be clocking up a lot of time becoming intimate with her fingers just to maintain a semblance of decorum while in his company. She took a deep breath as they made their way back to the town square to procure a coach and horse for the ride back to Stillwater.

Hopefully (and she was grasping at straws here already), perhaps - perhaps! - the Doctor was also feeling the same way.

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><p>to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: On The Still Path (3/7)

**Rating**: Sadly, we're still on a T rating.

**Characters**: Nine/Rose, Jack, various OCs and aliens

**Summary**: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to return with the TARDIS

**Disclaimers**: I don't own anything from _Doctor Who_ and sundry. If anyone's got a spare Chris Eccleston, I'd be happy to take him off your hands.

**Author's Notes**: YES! Your eyes are not mistaken, I am very much back. The muse has taken an extended trip down to Copacabana, but after drinking one too many banana daiquiris, she's slunk back home, hungover and hungry. I fed her pancakes. So we're good. Thank you so much for those who have left comments and alerts and all sorts of lovely words reminding me that I should come back to this story. Enjoy!

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><p>They'd been living in Stillwater House for slightly more than a month now (one month, three days, seven hours, forty-two minutes, and seven, no wait, eight seconds, if the Doctor wanted to be specific about it) and slowly, they've managed to transform the empty shell of a house into something resembling a home. There was still something of domestics that made a chill go down the Doctor's spine, but at least he was managing being Earth-bound much better than when he was stuck with UNIT.<p>

The garden was now cleared of debris, the trees trimmed and the fence re-painted. Abigail had continued to come in regularly to cook and clean and, although she never really realised it, teach Rose the ways of the country gentry. The Doctor lent a hand, and helped Stephen and Joseph plant rose campions, day lilies, and foxgloves along the garden borders, which bloomed riotously after a couple of weeks. When Rose asked about the sudden growth spurt, the Doctor just gave her a sly wink and patted the pocket of his trousers where the sonic screwdriver resided.

In the interest of continuing Rose's education (of sorts) as well as maintaining their cover story, the Doctor invited a private tutor to come by Stillwater. Miss Jenkins was one of the first graduates of Bedford College, which was established only a few years ago, and studied astronomy and literature, an incongruous pairing that had the Doctor grinning madly. "And she plays the piano too!" he crowed that evening when relaying the news to Rose over dinner.

Rose looked up from her soup to stare blankly at the Doctor. "You seem to like her."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's not to like?"

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-five. She'll be coming 'round every Tuesdays and Thursdays, 's that all right?"

"My social calendar is absolutely brimming with events, Doctor, however will I fit a governess right in?"

"No need to be so cranky, Rose." He reached across the table and patted her hand. "I know, I know. Victorians are stuffy and we've not gone anywhere, yeah? You must be bored witless."

Rose snorted. "I should say the same about you."

"Been stranded on Earth before, know the drill." He shrugged and scooped up the last few spoonfuls of soup from his bowl. "Plus this isn't so bad. Tell you what, two weeks of lessons with Marianne and I'll take you to London town after, how about it?"

"Marianne, is it now?"

"Well, I'm not gonna call her _my_ governess, am I?"

"One week."

"Three lessons."

"Fine." Rose wrinkled her nose. "Don't see why I have to do have lessons anyway. There's a reason I never took my A-levels."

"You're smarter than any A-level student, Rose. But since we're taking the slow path right now, might as well make some use out of it, yeah?"

Her soup spoon clanged against her bowl. "And what about you? What will you be doing?"

"Keeping an eye out for any sign of the Poppins. The sonic's already traced a very faint signal somewhere south of here, but I can't get a fix on it." He sighed in frustration. "Problem's the tech for this point is history's all cogs and clockwork, yeah? Can't make much out of it. 'Course, it also means that the others can't do anything about it either, so they're stuck with what they have. An' the air's not good for them, so hopefully they'll realise that sooner rather than later and high-tail it out of here."

"In the meantime..."

"In the meantime, we have a nice dinner." The lines around the Doctor's eyes crinkled sympathetically as he looked at Rose. Truth be told, he was actually glad she was here with him; had he been left alone, taking the slow path on his own, he probably would've gone mad with boredom and impatience. At least Rose's company made it bearable. More than bearable. In fact, if he allowed himself to forget for just one moment that they were hiding from a bunch of homicidal aliens and that they were waiting for a time machine to pop out of the vortex in a few months, he was almost ready to admit that it was, well...

Fantastic.

* * *

><p>Marianne Jenkins was a slender young woman with deep green eyes and lush red hair that made Rose think of the bright twin sunsets on Karro, a desert planet the Doctor had taken her before. Rose sat at the edge of the sofa in front of the sitting room fireplace, watching surreptitiously as her teacher (and how she chafed at the term!) carefully removed her white lace gloves and tucked them neatly in her bag. "Good afternoon," said Marianne, her voice tripping over the words like a lively mountain brook over stones. "You must be Rose."<p>

Rose stood up from her seat, smoothing her palms over her lavender skirt. She could feel the pins in her hair digging into her scalp as she extended one hand towards the other woman. "Yeah, that's me. Nice t' meet you."

"Same to you." They both sat down on opposite sides of the lounge. Rose could feel her hackles rising as the woman took in the rich interior of the sitting room and glanced at her once more, as though she was assessing whether or not Rose belonged in such a place. _I belong here more than she does_, she thought sourly, wrinkling her nose.

Just then, there was a discreet knock on the door and Abigail entered, carrying a tea-tray laden with delicately sliced sandwiches and their best china set. She bobbed a quick curtsy to Rose and Marianne and, with her observant gaze taking in the stiff way Rose was seated and the curious gleam in Marianne's eyes as she looked at the elegant tea service, gave Rose a quick wink and scurried back to the kitchen. Slightly heartened, Rose set about serving tea. "How'd you take your tea, Marianne?" she asked, tipping the porcelain teapot and watching the steaming dark liquid swirl into the delicate cup.

"Two sugars, one lemon, and please call me Miss Jenkins."

Rose pressed her lips tightly as she plunked two lumps of crystalline sugar into the tea and followed with a wedge of lemon. "All right," she said, passing the saucer and cup to the governess carelessly without looking up.

Unfortunately, she missed Marianne's outstretched hand - the cup wobbled precariously on the saucer before succumbing to gravity and splashing the tea on the other woman's white muslin skirt. Marianne jumped out of her seat with a small shout, and before Rose could open her mouth with an apology, the Doctor had thundered into the room, his blue eyes darkening as he took in the scene with Rose and the empty cup and saucer in her hands and the stain spreading on Marianne's snow-white skirt. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

"Doctor, I can explain - " Rose began.

But Marianne cut her off. "It seems that Miss Tyler's table manners leave much to be desired, Doctor Smith. When you spoke to me of instructing her in the manners such as a lady might be instructed, you did not mention that she was completely uncouth and allowed to run wild. I am not sure where in the East you've picked her up, but I assure you that it was probably where tea was never served in cups and saucers in the first place." Her voice was trembling, her bosom heaving, her eyes shining over-bright, and for a moment, Rose wanted to applaud her for such a fine performance - whatever they taught in Bedford College, most certainly part of the curriculum was how to snare a man with nothing more than a pair of silk-clad breasts and a breathy tone.

The Doctor turned to Rose, his eyebrow quirked up as though he was asking her, plain as day, if what Marianne was saying was true. Rose drew her lips downwards, her brown eyes apologetic. _It's not my fault, it was an accident_, she thought, hoping that the Doctor could see it in her face. She truly didn't mean to stain Marianne's skirt; the frustration she was feeling started to drain out of her body, replaced with embarrassment and more than a little anger at herself for not keeping her emotions in check.

"Well then," he said, stepping forward to stand near Rose, "it seems that it's all an accident, Miss Jenkins, an' I'm sure Rose here is sorry for what she's done." He reached towards the tray and shook a small bell to call Abigail to the sitting room. The chiming sound filled the otherwise silent room. "But as for Rose's manners - well, she's been in more foreign situations than you can ever imagine, an' she's conducted herself with far more elegance than many other girls her age, an' even older. An' she's never given me cause to embarrass myself, or any of our other companions on our travels, so I'd trust you, Miss Jenkins, not t' cast blame on someone's manners when they've always been exemplary otherwise."

Rose blushed as the Doctor's words landed in her ears, and tried to cover up her reaction by leaning down and picking up the napkins on the tray and silently handing them over to Marianne, who made no move to accept them.

Abigail came back into the room, and let out a small gasp when she saw the state of the governess' clothes. "You'll have to come with me to the back, miss, so I can fix y' up properly. Can't do it here with the gentles in the room, if you know what I mean."

The Doctor gave Abigail a grin. "That's a good lass, Abigail. Thank you for your suggestion. You should follow her, Miss Jenkins, and she'll give you a proper cleanin' up."

Rose gave the other girl a thankful smile. "Thanks, Abigail."

"'S my pleasure, Miss Rose," she said, gesturing to Marianne to follow her through the half-open door and towards the kitchen. The governess glared at Rose, seemingly frustrated at her inability to charm the Doctor into taking her side, and disappeared through the doorway in Abigail's wake.

Rose slumped against the soft cushions, the cloth napkins limp in her grip. "Argh," she groaned.

The Doctor sat beside her, thigh against thigh, and plucked the napkins from her fingers. They sat like that for awhile, watching the shadows lengthen across the room. Rose could feel the side of his body pressed against her, even through the layers of their Victorian clothing - the tense strength of the Doctor's moulding against her softness. His breathing slowed, his eyes staring straight ahead at some invisible line in front of him. "I'm sorry Doctor," she muttered quietly.

"For what?" His voice was soft now, devoid of the threatening storm.

"For not being what you expect me to be." Rose stared at her hands twisting the fabric of her skirt. _For not being as refined and elegant as Marianne Jenkins, for not knowing how to deal with this time in history, in my own history on my own planet, for being an ignorant, uneducated ape._

"An' what did you think I expected you to be?"

She shrugged. "Not stupid, for once. An' not ignorant, else you wouldn't be invitin' Miss High-and-Mighty Jenkins to be my teacher. An', I dunno, someone who's a proper lady, a better lady, than me."

"Rose." The Doctor turned and reached out to cup her face in his hands, tilting her chin gently upwards so that they were looking at each other eye to eye. His gaze was tender as he grazed his thumb across her pale cheek. "Look, you don't have to apologise. We all make mistakes, an' today was an accident. An' I'm sorry about Miss Jenkins, thought you were gettin' bored an' might want some company, yeah, like a new mate or somethin'. I mean, it can't be pleasant stuck here with me, no matter how impressive I might be." The last sentence was said with a grin on the Doctor's face.

Rose laughed; she couldn't help it. "But you are impressive, Doctor," she said, resting her hand above his, pressing his palm closer to her cheek. "And I'm not bored, not with you. I told you, yeah, better with two."

An odd expression, almost something like recognition, passed over his face. "Better with you, Rose. It's just better with you."

Just then, the door opened again and Abigail stepped in. Despite the shadows and the darkening room, she could see the Doctor and Rose, almost pressed up against each other, nose to nose, their hands entwined, his fingers resting on the curve of Rose's cheek. She smiled; she could feel the attraction between the two of them ever since the beginning - despite the generous age gap, Abigail couldn't help but feel that they were right for each other. Still, even though she didn't want to interrupt what was obviously an intimate moment, her job came first. She discreetly cleared her throat and tried not to giggle as the Doctor and Rose sprang apart like cuckoo clocks on springs. "Miss Jenkins is now composed, Doctor, Miss Rose."

"Oh." The Doctor lifted his eyes up as he and Rose stood up politely as Miss Jenkins entered the room. "Is your dress all right?" he asked politely. "We can compensate you, if necessary."

Marianne stared, her green eyes flashing as she took in the close proximity between the Doctor and Rose. "No, no, it's quite all right," she said, regaining her composure. "Your servant was very adept with her cleansing agents."

"Abigail's done very good work for us, and she's more like family now," said Rose.

Marianne ignored her and addressed the Doctor instead. "I'm afraid, Doctor, despite the excellent recommendations of your acquaintances, I will not be accepting the position of tutor to your... Miss Tyler. I'm afraid she needs a firmer hand than mine who has patience to deal with... her unfortunate upbringing."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at her words, and Rose could feel the stirrings of the Oncoming Storm gathering speed. "That's quite all right, Miss Jenkins," he said formally. "I wouldn't want to expose Rose to your narrow-minded and bigoted views, at any rate. True, she might not have the kind of formal education you've been privileged to enjoy, but that doesn't mean you can insult her intelligence. I only take the best with me, and Rose has proven herself time and again that she's exactly that."

Marianne's face soured, her cheeks a flaming red. It looked like she wanted to say something more but Abigail had already opened the door wide and held it for their visitor.

"Bye now," said the Doctor, his tone designed to infuriate. Rose tried to stifle a grin.

Just as Marianne turned to leave, the Doctor cleared his throat. "By the way, Miss Jenkins, you got one thing right. She's _my_ Rose, all right, an' I'd appreciate it, if in the future, you be careful on insultin' your employers in this manner."

The door stayed open for a fraction of a second as Marianne shot the Doctor a look of rage. And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>to be continued


End file.
